Aria hovered at the cliff’s edge, fingertips brushing the Dragon Pearl. Its surface shimmered with an otherworldly glow, smooth and almost alive. She could feel it pulsing beneath her touch, each beat humming with raw, untamed power. For a long moment, she simply let her senses drink it in. Power like this wasn’t just dangerous—it was sacred. To grasp it without understanding would be a betrayal.With a steadying breath, she placed the Pearl back into its alcove, careful, deliberate. This wasn’t a simple treasure to hoard. Its essence waited, patient and calculating, promising something far greater than its immediate energy. The elders of the Alchemy Hall would be the key. Absorbing it blindly through the Furnace of Creation might give her strength—but it would strip the dragon’s soul from the gem forever.She rose, fixing her gaze on the Shadowfang Sect far below. The Inner Sect Trial was starting, and every second mattered. Years of grueling training had honed her body to perfection.

All eyes were on Aria. The battlefield had become a storm of chaos, but even amidst the clamor, one presence sent a chill down every spine: Churon Kuangdao. A Half-Step Martial Emperor, prodigious beyond imagination, whose reputation alone made the bravest warriors hesitate. And in his hand… the weapon of legends: the Eternal Hatred Demon Blade.“That… that’s the Demon Lord’s weapon! Almost a top-tier Astral artifact, just a step below a divine relic!” someone whispered, eyes wide. Gasps rippled through the disciples of the Royal Martial Academy. Few had ever seen it. Fewer still could imagine the destruction it could bring.Churon Kuangdao’s gaze locked on Aria. Sharp, cold, precise. “Aria, isn’t it? I remember now. The prodigy of the Shadowfang Sect’s Outer Sect this year. How… amusing.” His voice dripped malice as he hovered, the Demon Blade radiating a blood-red aura that seemed to twist the air itself. “Today… this place becomes your tomb.”Aria smiled faintly. Calm. Unshaken. “Y

“Time spares no one. Those who hesitate… are swallowed whole by the storm.”The young man in white said it so casually that it almost sounded lazy. But the calm in his voice carried weight—an invisible force that seemed to squeeze the air itself. It wasn’t arrogance. Not exactly. It was certain. That quiet, unshakable confidence of someone who simply knew he stood above everyone else. Every word pressed on the crowd like a command no one could ignore: I decide who lives. I decide who dies.Kaelen Viremont froze. The words were teasing, almost playful—but they hit like a hammer. A faint grin tugged at his lips as he watched the white-robed youth. With unnerving composure, he slid the Long Regret Demon Blade into his spatial ring. Then, just as the crowd’s collective breath seemed to stop, he lifted his hand… and extended his middle finger.Gasps rippled through the disciples. Some stepped back, shocked. Others, furious.The white-robed youth’s eyes—previously still as winter ice—flared

“Power infusion!”The words ripped through the silence like thunder cracking open the sky. Kaelen Viremont and Elder Elysera froze. Neither breathed. For a moment, even the air seemed to forget how to move.Then Kaelen’s eyes sharpened. Determination flickered there.“I’m willing to try it,” he said, calm but steady.Elysera spun toward him so fast her silver robes whipped around her. “No! Absolutely not!” Her voice trembled, yet every word burned with fear and frustration. “You’re only at the Martial King realm, Kaelen. Senior Dragon’s power isn’t something your body can withstand. Even I—after centuries of cultivation—couldn’t endure his dragon essence. You’ll be torn apart before you even know what’s happening!”Her words hit hard, sharp as glass, but the worry underneath them was unmistakable.Across from them, Senior Dragon’s golden eyes gleamed faintly. His voice rolled out low and deep, like distant thunder echoing through old mountains.“Elysera is right. The Inner Sect Trials

The swamp was alive with decay. The air hung heavy, damp enough to choke on, and every breath tasted of rot. Mist clung to everything—skin, clothes, even the inside of the lungs. Each step sank into black sludge that sucked greedily at boots, burping bubbles from the dead roots below.A dozen disciples from the Order of the Blade had gathered on one of the few dry patches in miles, a trembling island of mud pretending to be solid ground. Their robes were shredded, slick with blood and grime. Faces smeared with mud, eyes hollow from exhaustion, they clutched their blades like drowning men holding on to driftwood.For a while, there was nothing but silence. Not even the insects dared to move. The swamp seemed to hold its breath.Then came the sound—faint splashes, steady, deliberate. Footsteps.The mist shifted. Shapes began to form inside it. One, then another… then dozens. A wave of figures emerged from the fog, wearing silver insignias of the Aetherion Academy and black serpent crest